Pilgrim
by Eowyn77
Summary: Carlisle's arrival in the New World involves some interesting characters. For the President's Day Challenge on SillyBella's Twilight Challenges forum: Write a story about a Cullen "rubbing elbows" with a famous historical figure.


The New World, they'd called it back in London. I looked at the wooden pier where our boat would soon dock and laughed softly to myself. They'd worked so hard to make the New World like the Old — little white houses along cobbled streets, a smoky haze rising from brick chimneys, lads and lasses in London fashions of several years ago.

I quickly looked away from them, the children playing near the pier. Almost two months, I'd been aboard this ship. Two months, and I'd drunk from the last rat three weeks ago. Even these ripe old sailors had started to smell appetizing. I needed to find an animal to drink from, and soon.

There was a light drizzle this afternoon, Praise the Lord, so I'd not have to linger on the ship until nightfall. Captain William Johnson stood beside the gangplank, helping the women to keep their footing as they disembarked. I waited at the end of the line, not trusting myself to be near so many people at once.

"Reverend Cullen, sir!" the captain exclaimed. "We shall miss having you aboard, a-hymning and a-reading from the Good Book for us."

I smiled in answer. "And I shall miss having a captive congregation, Captain Johnson!" But honesty got the better of me. "Would you forgive me if I say I shan't miss this boat, though?"

"Ship, Reverend! She's a ship!" he genially corrected for the hundredth time, "and you'd not be the first landlubber glad to be quit of her."

I laughed at that. There wasn't a single meal I'd held down in the last two months. Extending my hand, I said "One last thing, captain, if you would. Where is the nearest place a man can get some fresh meat? Something still kicking, if you know what I mean."

"That'll be Quincy Market," Captain Johnson answered, pointing south along the shore of Boston harbor. "Best place for food of any kind — meat, greens, grain, or 'taters."

"Thank you, Captain, and God bless you and your boat!"

"Ship!" he laughed.

The market was tortuous, even holding my breath. I hadn't been this thirsty in more than half a century, not since I first became a vampire. I bought a goose at the first butcher I found and barely made it to a blind alley before I drank her dry.

The rain had stopped, and the clouds looked to be breaking up, so I began searching for a boarding house. The goose did little more than whet my thirst, but I'd have to wait until nightfall to escape the city and hunt.

I found a house less than half a mile from the market and ducked inside. The sun would come out any moment. The mistress of the house ambled over, her face alight as she took in my fine clothes and inhumanly attractive face. "May I be of help to you, sir?"

It was my first time indoors today, and her sweet, enticing scent made my throat burn. I must be more thirsty than I'd thought. "I am Carlisle Cullen, recently arrived from England. I was wondering if you have a room to let, Missus..."

"Perry, sir. You flatter me with the 'missus,' though. 'Goodwife' is grand enough for me. I do indeed have a room, or rather a bed, to let. There's two cots to a room, you see."

"I'll take it and gladly." I placed a coin in her hand, not bothering to see how much I'd given her and hurried away from her tempting blood.

"Second door on the left at the top of the stairs," she called after me.

There was already a man in the narrow room asleep on the cot opposite mine, so I slipped my duffel under the bed and returned to the parlor. I was far too thirsty to stay enclosed with a warm, vulnerable, sleeping man. It was far safer to lose myself in the written word and the scent of a warm hickory fire.

I opened my Bible to St. Matthew, chapter four — the temptations of our Lord. I knew this chapter, had memorized it in Latin, Greek, German and English. My eyes did not see the ink on the page before me, but the words were a soothing balm in my mind.

_And the devil said unto him, If thou be the Son of God, command this stone that it be made bread. And Jesus answered him, saying, It is written, that man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word of God._

Goodwife Perry's scent preceded her, filling my mind, but I kept my eyes fixed on the page. It wasn't mere fancy, then. Her blood called to me, sweeter and stronger than any one else I'd met this day. As I listened to her tentative step, I heard another sound — faint, barely audible even to my ears. A second heartbeat, racing in her womb.

Goody Perry was with child. 

Thirsty as I was, I couldn't help myself. I remembered the taste of the does I'd drunk from, heavy with young in springtime. Their blood was sweeter, richer than the bucks, laden with the greater strength they needed to carry unborn fawns. A greater temptation — and a greater sin.

"Pardon me, sir," the goodwife said, hesitating in the doorway. Drawn against my will, my gaze met hers, her eyes sparkling in attraction. "But I was wondering, if you don't mind my asking... What is it you do?"

_I drink blood._

"For a living, I mean."

_My kind murders then plunders their prey. But I... I do not live on blood alone..._

"I live by every word of God, Goody Perry." I answered slowly, the words of the Savior Himself giving me strength. Her eyes were puzzled, so I added, "I preach betimes." For her benefit, I smiled, but I kept my teeth clenched, resisting the urge to leap on her. I focused on my hands, willing them to be bound to the armrest. _You and your babe are saved, Goody, more than you can ever know! Grace has saved us all this day._

"A true man of letters, then!" Goody Perry exclaimed. "We shall be pleased to hear you at dinner, sir, if you are so inclined. The matter of inoculation is of great interest here."

Dinner. All those happy, hungry bodies stuffed around a table in a warm, little room. I swallowed down the venom. "I regret I shall have to postpone my discourse, Goody Perry. I am worn from my travels and shall retire early tonight. I only wished to read my Bible before bed. Tomorrow evening, perhaps?"

It suddenly occurred to her how forward and even rude she was being. "Of course, Reverend Doctor Cullen. Forgive me."

"There is naught to forgive, Goody."

But it seemed she couldn't quite bring herself to leave. "You shall not find much in the way of entertainment here, I am afraid, but I do have our local journal, The New England Courant." She crossed the parlor and I held my breath as she picked a paper up off the table and offered it to me. I accepted it, careful to not touch her warm, living skin and nodded my thanks.

My silence finally persuaded her and she left.

A short while later, I closed my Bible. I carried it for comfort more than need — every word was burned into my memory — but my concentration was broken. The thirst was manageable, and I had another hour to pass at least before the sun would be low enough, so I began to peruse the Courant. What better way, I told myself, to learn of a people than to read of their concerns and humor in their own words? The paper was surprisingly recent, only a few days old, and I read slowly to draw out this much-needed distraction.

The very first lines caught my attention, written by a Mrs. Dogood. A _female_ writer? And in a place of honor as the first letter published? There was more "new" to New England than I had first thought. I read on with interest.

"Mr. Ephraim charges Women with being particularly guilty of Pride, Idleness,&c. wrongfully, inasmuch as the Men have not only as great a Share in those Vice as the Women, but are likewise in a great Measure the Cause of that which the Women are guilty of."

I let out a low whistle and grinned. Printed words such as these would have been burned in my youth. The presumptuous Mr. Ephraim reproved Mrs. Dogood for daring to criticize the vices of men, on the assumption that women were in far greater need of chastisement.

And her answer? "When a Vice is to be reproved, Men who are most culpable, deserve the most Reprehension, and certainly therefore, ought to have it."

I chuckled softly. Amen and amen!

The forthright Mrs. Dogood then lit into her poor antagonist. "For notwithstanding the Men are commonly complaining how hard they are forced to labor, only to Maintain their Wifes in Pomp and Idleness, yet if you go among the Women, you will learn, that they have always more Work upon their Hands than they are able to do; and that a Woman's Work is never done, &c. But however, Suppose we should grant for once, that we are generally more idle than the Men, ( without making any Allowance for the Weakness of the Sex,) I desire to know whose Fault it is? Are not the Men to blame for their Folly in maintaining us in Idleness? "

She continued. "I would but ask any who slight the Sex for their Understanding, What is a Man (a Gentleman, I mean) good for that is taught no more? If knowledge and Understanding had been useless Additions to the sex God Almighty would never have given them Capacities, for he made nothing Needless. What has the Woman done except forfeit the Privilege of being taught? Does she plague us with her Pride and Impertinence? Why did we not let her learn, that she might have had more Wit? Shall we upbraid Women with Folly, when 'tis only the Error of this inhumane Custom that hindered them being made wiser?"

Eloquent and indignant. Mrs. Dogood was making quite an impression. But it was the next argument that had me laughing aloud.

"If Women are proud, it is certainly owing to the Men still; for if they will be such _Simpletons_ as to humble themselves at their Feet, and fill their credulous Ears with extravagant Praises of their Wit, Beauty, and other Accomplishments (perhaps where there are none too,) and when Women by this Means persuaded that they are Something more than human, What Wonder is it, if they carry themselves haughtily, and live extravagantly. Notwithstanding, I believe there are more Instances of extravagant Pride to be found among Men than among Women, and this Fault is certainly more heinous in the former than in the latter."

"Well played!" I said to myself. Mrs. Dogood's arguments were remarkable. Women are not lazy, but if they are not industrious, it is the fault of the man for treating her as an incapable creature. Women are not stupid, but if they are ignorant it is because they were denied learning. Women are not prideful unless they are bound down by enforced ignorance to believe the flattery of men. Beautiful! "Well played, indeed!" I chuckled again. Mr. Ephraim must be stinging to take such a public trouncing.

But who was this Mrs. Dogood? A married woman writing for a circular? I crossed the parlor to the table by the fire and sifted through the papers there, going back until I could find her first letter, published in April. As I read her epistles, I began to understand her better. First fatherless then orphaned, she was the widow of a minister, living in the country with children yet to support. And then attached to the most recent letter, a note stating she had moved to Boston. The realization was startling. _She was making her living by publishing._

Even under a nom de plume, it was disreputable for a woman to put herself forward so publicly. That a woman would earn her bread by the pen was unthinkable. What dire straits she must be in to stoop so low?

Goody Perry shyly stepped into the doorway to the parlor. "Reverend Doctor Cullen? I'm about to lay dinner on the table. Are you certain you won't at least have some bread and cheese?"

I'd been so engrossed that I hadn't noticed twilight falling; I should have left to hunt some time ago. "Thank you, Goody. A slice of bread will suffice, and then I shall retire for the evening."

She bobbed her head and reluctantly returned to the kitchen. I took a deep breath, filling my mind with the scent of hickory smoke, and followed her. Fortunately, the kitchen was busy enough that I was able to take my bread in hand and leave, sparing me the unpleasantness of disgorging it later.

I wrapped my duffel in blankets in the form of a sleeping man, then slipped out the bedroom window. Only an hour's walk brought me from the heart of civilization to peaceful farmlands. I could only imagine where a day or two of walking would bring me.

And the hunt! I ranged more than two hundred miles that night, taking several large deer and even a lone wolf, and I heard others howling in the distance. I'd walked this world for a hundred years, but that sound awoke something new in me, a restless longing. It was akin to the longing that I felt in large libraries, a desire to see and know. Here was an entire undiscovered continent beckoning me. It was then that I first knew my choice had been the right one.

The next evening, I asked Goody Perry for directions to the Courant's print shop, and she had her lad lead me there. I pressed a ha'penny into his hand for his trouble, and his eyes grew wide in delight. "Tell your mother I shan't be long." Then I ruffled his hair playfully and sent him on his way.

A bell chimed above the door as I entered, and a youth with an oil-can in hand stood up suddenly beside the press. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in the cut of my finely-tailored clothes. Though convenient, I was saddened sometimes by the doors that wealth opened.

"Hello. I am Carlisle Cullen, recently come over from England."

The young man set aside the can and wiped his hand on a cloth before extending it to me. "Good evening to you, sir!"

"Good evening." After taking my fill of blood last night, I didn't hesitate to shake his hand. "I was wondering if I might speak to Mr. James Franklin, the proprietor of this newspaper."

"I'm sorry sir. He's taken ill, but I'm his brother, Ben. How can I assist you?"

I looked over the lad. "I wanted to inquire about one Silence Dogood, a widow who has written for you."

"You and half of Boston," the boy answered cheekily. "Her true name isn't Silence Dogood, you know."

"Do you know where I might find her?"

"She writes anonymously." Ben turned back to oiling the press.

The clink of coins on the counter caught his attention. He turned and looked owlishly at the five pounds I'd placed there.

"Alms. For Silence," I said.

Stunned, he looked at me.

"It is a rare thing for a woman to publish, even under a false name. She is a widow and must be hard-pressed to do such a thing. I..."

"This money is for Silence?" Ben interrupted, looking back at the coins.

"For the woman who writes under Silence's name. Could you bring me to her?"

"No."

"But you could give this to her for me?"

He hesitated, then answered slowly, "Aye, I could pass this money along to the one who writes under Silence's name."

I caught the scent then, a unique combination of fear and anticipation — the scent of a lie. Faster than sight, I caught his wrist. The boy turned white and tried to back away, but I didn't release him. Fury filled me. "You would steal from a widow in need?"

"No, sir! Of course not, sir!"

I pinned him under my wrathful gaze. "Then why were you false with me?"

"I told you no lie..."

I let go of his hand. "Yes, you did. You are lying even now."

The lad began to tremble. "I told you the honest truth, sir. I'll pass this money on to the one who writes Silence's letters."

Now I was puzzled. "Then wherein was the lie? For I know you are deceiving me."

He searched my face, a haunted look to his eyes, then he looked down. "It started as a jest, but James will whip me for it." Then his agonized gaze met mine. "I am the one who writes the Dogood letters."

That smelled true, and I barked out a laugh. "You?"

Now he blushed. "Aye. Me."

"But you're not a day over sixteen!" I chuckled in disbelief, then placed another coin on the counter. "For Silence Dogood, then, but be wise with this money. You'll want to be fleeing Boston sooner or later. Yours is far too sharp a wit to last long here, Benjamin Franklin."


End file.
